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<title>god DAMNIT why can't authors just let their characters get PUNCHED i'm SO SICK of the love interest just SWOOPING IN and PREVENTING IT by Bunshin</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29751825">god DAMNIT why can't authors just let their characters get PUNCHED i'm SO SICK of the love interest just SWOOPING IN and PREVENTING IT</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunshin/pseuds/Bunshin'>Bunshin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Eddsworld - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bullying, High School, Light Angst, M/M, School Life, Short, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:41:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29751825</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunshin/pseuds/Bunshin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I was reading a good ol' manhwa a bit ago, and the story was pretty interesting! I liked it! And I got <em>so</em> excited when the main character's ass was about to get beat, because we all love angst and hurt/comfort. but NO. the mother fucking love interest just SWOOPED HIS ASS IN and STOPPED THE PUNCH MIDAIR. mother fucker WHAT? is this high school boyfriend a top league wrestler with pipes bigger than your skull? eat dick and learn realism, your pussy ass boyfriend from high school couldn't do shit against bullies because they're fucking TEENAGERS how do y'all forget that shit jesus christ. just LET THEM GET PUNCHED</p><p>it's literally just tom getting punched. fuck off</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom/Tord (Eddsworld)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>god DAMNIT why can't authors just let their characters get PUNCHED i'm SO SICK of the love interest just SWOOPING IN and PREVENTING IT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tom hated high school.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>oOoOhH, it’s the best years of your life!</span>
  </em>
  <span> the adults around him would constantly croon like some kind of fucked up mocking bird. Great! What’s that song by Danny Gonzalez? “Downhill?” Yeah, that exactly. If high school was the best years of his life, God </span>
  <em>
    <span>forbid</span>
  </em>
  <span> he doesn’t die by the end of college. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You might wonder why he hates high school, besides the whole “I had a breakdown because my parents screamed at me for not being advanced at math.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, God once again swooped in and decided to make his school situation worse than anything else. People would never leave him the fuck alone. Weak as shit mostly due to his executive dysfunction and crippling asthma, the kids chose him as an easy target. For the most part, it stayed verbal. However, if he talked back too much, it didn’t stay that way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A smack to the back of his head startled him out of his thoughts, causing him to nearly drop his pencil. The smack itself didn’t hurt, but it stayed hard enough for Tom to know what it meant.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Hey, Tommy,” Eduardo drawled, and Tom couldn’t suppress his eye roll. He knew better, though, and let his head lay low as his shoulders hunched.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mark placed his elbow on Tom’s desk, crumpling up his worksheet. “You owe us a favor, right?” he asked, Eduardo leaning over Tom. Had Tom not sat next to the window, where the afternoon sun shone inside the classroom, Eduardo’s shadow would have loomed over him like some sort of fucked up sundial. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What for? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tom thought to himself as he found himself avoiding their gazes… and someone else’s. Passed them, someone’s eyes bore into him with teeth glinting and claws sharpened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we figured you could grab us a couple of drinks!” Mark said, pulling back as Eduardo hooked an arm around Tom’s neck, causing him to shrink away. His eyes widened as he silently cursed at himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take a--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t bring money today,” Tom blurted out, and found his cheeks starting to heat up. “I-I’m sorry, I must’ve forgotten…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>forget</span>
  </em>
  <span> to bring money?” Eduardo huffed as he motioned for Mark to grab Tom’s bag. “Unless you plan to starve yourself… which, to be fair, you might need.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tom tried to swallow the lump in his throat as Mark searched through his bag for his wallet, fucking up the order he had in the bag. Eduardo watched intently as Mark clicked his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Looks like he’s finally trying to lose some weight,” Mark said as he dropped the bag carelessly, causing Tom’s binders to spill out. Tom stared at the mess, gritting his teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m not--” Tom stuttered over his words as they glanced over at him. “I’m not starving myself, you idiots!” he managed to spit out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cue the Big Time Rush music.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eduardo’s hand gripped his collar within a moment, pulling Tom out of his seat as the chair nearly tipped backwards. “What the fuck did you just call me?” he spat as Tom gripped at Eduardo’s wrists, cringing away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whoopsie daisy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tom really wished his teacher wouldn’t immediately ditch them on her lunch break. Instead, the only people in the classroom were the few students who lagged behind on grabbing lunch from the cafeteria. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he knew it, he was getting dragged out of the classroom and towards the stairs. Damn, he was gonna get his ass kicked due to his lack of a filter. His thoughts ran through his head, half of them too fast for him to comprehend. How was he gonna deal with it this time? If they left marks on his face, then Tom would have to avoid going home until he had a solid excuse. His parents would make such a big deal out of it, if he came home with a bruise. He could only hope their kicks would stay away from his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His back hit the concrete wall as the wind blew against his face. Ah, yes. He’d been too busy drowning in his thoughts to realize that they had already made it to the roof. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You little bitch,” Eduardo growled as Tom meekly grabbed at his own arm. He didn’t have the time for this shit. “Because of you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> gonna miss lunch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pity.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Almost as if God heard him, Eduardo delivered a punch straight at Tom’s face. The sound registered before the actual pain, followed by the realization that his luck was really down today. Eduardo just </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hit his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blood poured from his lip, the metallic taste making Tom cringe. He readied for the next blow, arms crossed over his face and body turned in order to protect the most vital parts of his body. A kick came next, sending him sprawling to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tom just accepted the beating. What was he gonna do? Run away? Yeah, as much as he’d love to jump off the roof, there was no way that it’d happen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time they were finished, Tom had tears pooling at the edge of his eyes. Had he not hid his face with his arms, they would be making fun of him for that, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They started talking, but the ringing in Tom’s ears made it impossible to hear. His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to focus through the pain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their receding footsteps made him let out a deep breath. Thank God they finally finished.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, arms wobbling as his hands scraped against the harsh, concrete ground. He let himself lean back against the wall as he wiped the tears away from his eyes. Blood still poured out from his lip, staining the ground, so he placed his sweatshirt sleeve against the wound. His head pounded, making him keep his eyes closed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, that’ll just make the swelling worse.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tom startled, eyes snapping open and meeting someone else’s eyes. The boy towered above him (considering Tom was sitting), silver eyes glinting with an emotion Tom couldn’t identify. He couldn’t help his sputter before managing out a soft, “W-What?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Your lip. Sweatshirts aren’t exactly the most soft material out there.” He pulled out one of those mini-pack of tissues that moms would carry around in their purses. He pulled one out and reached it out for Tom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hesitated for a moment, but ended up taking it. He pressed it against his lip, soaking it with blood as he looked back down. “S-Sorry.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No worries.” The boy sat down in front of him, leaning back on his hands. “Does that happen a lot?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tom couldn’t help the look he shot him. He wasn’t interested in spilling his whole high school life story.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a laugh, the boy shook his head. “I’m Tord.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sniffle escaped Tom. “That exchange student, right? You won’t stop staring at me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That made Tord freeze up. Yeah, of course Tom fucking noticed. He’s hyper aware of everything that goes on around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though, the fact that it made Tord speechless made Tom let out a laugh. “You’re…” he trailed off. He didn’t have a word that could describe the boy’s dumbassery that wouldn’t cause at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> more punch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nevermind that,” Tord said, waving his hand dismissively. “Do you plan on going back to class like that?” He pulled out another tissue and handed it to Tom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” Tom crumpled up the previous tissue and shoved it into his pocket before putting the fresh one back on the wound. “What else would I do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Skip? Or at least go to the nurse’s office?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tom snorted. “Yeah, not gonna happen.” He cast his gaze to the side as a particularly harsh wind blew over them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you don’t go home now, that’ll just make your lip worse.” Tord switched the hand he was leaning on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tom didn’t respond to that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll skip with you,” Tord offered, and Tom nearly spat blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dude, I barely know you,” he pointed out, leaning back against the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hum left Tord’s lips. “Well, true… but it’s not like I’m gonna do anything. I’m not mean enough to kick a dude while he’s down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He huffed. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tord stood up and reached his hand out. “C’mon, seriously. Skip with me. I’ll at least get some ice for your lip.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a blink, Tom stared at his hand. He’d only skipped twice, and never with another person. However, those two times weren’t that bad, and his parents didn’t find out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swallowed thickly and took Tord’s hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make me regret this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tord shot a grin at him. “No promises.”</span>
</p>
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